Ever Dream
by Jessica Wolfe
Summary: "Is it worth it?" the deep voice asked. "Are these small lives worth your protection?"


White hot pain lanced through him as Megatron's sword impaled his frame. He hoped he'd held the Decepticons off long enough for the other Autobots to arrive.

If not . . .

He turned his head, his dimming optics focusing on the teen hiding behind a tree.

If not, Sam would be at Megatron's mercy.

Optimus could feel his spark fading, the strength leaving his limbs. He collapsed to the ground, his head coming to rest a few feet from Sam. His audio receptors didn't seem to be working, but he could see the anguish on the boy's face as he screamed. Optimus had hoped to see the end of the war with the Decepticons, and peace come to Sam's planet. It seemed his dream wasn't to be.

His optics went offline as his central processor tried to shunt energy to critical systems. His energon pump stuttered and stopped as the last of the vital fluid leaked from the gaping hole in his chest armor.

"Sam . . . run . . ." he urged.

His spark gave a final flicker and went out.

With a groan of settling metal, Optimus Prime died.

* * *

"Peter! Hey, Peter. Get up!" Sam's voice sounded worried.

"I didn't hit you that hard," said another familiar voice. "Get up, old timer."

Peter cracked his eyes open. Bright sunlight streamed in, blinding him momentarily. He blinked and his vision cleared. Sam bent over him, his face young lined in concern. Peter's eyes flicked to the other form standing next to Sam.

"Who are you calling old, Harnell?" Peter groaned as he sat up. "You're older than I am."

Harnell, one of Peter's war buddies, grinned and offered his hand to help Peter stand. "Up ya come."

Harnell slapped him on the back then jogged over to retrieve the football that he and Peter had been going for when they collided.

"I thought old 'ironhide' had killed you," Sam said, giving Peter a grin. He turned and yelled after Harnell, "We agreed this was _touch_ football. No tackling."

Peter laughed and looked around. More friends stood nearby. Mark, André, and Rob, also from his war days, and B, Sam's college buddy.

"Peter's taken worse hits," André said in his slick Italian accent. "He always rises again."

Rob came up and flashed a penlight in Peter's eyes. "Your pupils are dilating well. No sign of concussion."

Peter blinked, his eyes watering. "Rob, I said I was fine. I don't need you doctoring me."

Rob grunted and put the penlight away. "Perhaps you're right. But I think we should call the game a draw. Besides, the girls have lunch ready."

Mark chuckled, his electric blue eyes crinkling at the edges. "I don't think Sam's dad will appreciate you calling him 'one of the girls', Rob."

They laughed and Ron Witwicky looked up from the grill and waved with his tongs. "Food's on!" he called.

Harnell joined the others and they all started toward the awning where a picnic table was laden with food. The triplets—R.C., Gray, and Erin—along with Mikaela and Judy Witwicky were setting out the last ingredients for sub sandwiches while Sam's dad flipped burgers and hotdogs onto a platter.

Peter hung back a little, watching his friends with a fond smile on his face. Life didn't get much better than this. His war days behind him. His friends around him. Sunshine. Good food.

So why did something feel off?

Sam looked back, then jogged to Peter's side.

"You okay?" the teen asked.

Peter's smiled widened and he placed a hand on Sam's shoulder. "Never better, Sam. Never better. Go eat. I'll be along in a moment. I'm having a bit of an existential moment."

Sam grinned up at him. "Okay. You existentiate. I'll make sure there's some grub left for you."

Peter watched him go. B was waiting for Sam and the two high-fived before diving on a plateful of hamburgers. Peter observed the scene a little while longer, a feeling of peace and rightness filling him, chasing away the feeling of displacement. He wanted to hold onto this day forever.

Harnell and Rob finally noticed his absence and started toward him with meaningful looks. Peter grinned, waved them away, and joined his friends.

They spent the day eating and playing games. B and Sam won at charades. Mark was dubbed the winner of the impromptu break dancing session. And Peter won the arm wrestling competition.

As twilight drew across the sky, Ron Witwicky started a fire in a nearby pit. Everyone gathered around, roasting marshmallows and telling stories. Peter was mildly surprised to see Harnell and Gray cuddle up under a blanket, but was glad his friend had found a companion. Besides, the two looked awfully cute feeding each other s'mores. Sam and Mikaela shared a blanket and Erin had snuggled in next to Mark.

It was nearly midnight when the group finally broke up. Peter bid his friends farewell and climbed into his red GMC Arcadia. It was only a ten minute drive back to his home, but once there, he couldn't wind down enough to sleep. A sense of unease was growing at the back of his mind.

He flipped TV channels for a bit, but nothing caught his attention. He tried reading a book and pacing his living room, but he was still restless. He lit a pipe and stood in front of the fireplace, blowing smoke rings and trying to discover what had him on edge. He stared at the pictures on the mantle.

A black and white photo of Rob graduating with his PhD.

Peter, Harnell, and Mark in their Ranger uniforms, posing with a chopper.

Sam and B's first day at college, the teens giving a 'thumbs up' to the camera.

The triplets with their motorcycles before a race.

All good memories. So why did they suddenly seem . . . wrong?

Pain ripped through Peter's chest, stealing his breath, and dropping him to his knees. The room around him dimmed then faded, leaving him in darkness.

_"Prime,"_ a deep voice called.

Peter gasped as images filled his mind.

**Machines at war.**

** Brother fighting against brother.**

** A world torn asunder.**

_"Prime."_

**Sam and a large yellow-and-black robot. Fighting together. Protecting a metallic cube.**

A name came to him. Bumblebee.

The yellow-and-black 'bot turned suddenly, fixing Peter with bright blue optics.

_"Optimus!"_

More of the robotic beings. More names.

Ironhide.

Ratchet.

Jazz.

_I know them_, he thought.

He saw the destruction of the cube—the Allspark—as it was shoved into Megatron's chest.

The pain in his own chest intensified. Burning agony. Almost like a sword shoved through his body.

More images in a blur.

**Hunting Decepticons on Earth.**

** Fighting and bleeding alongside the humans.**

** Secrecy and hiding.**

** Threats and ultimatums from the tiny beings he sought to protect.**

_"Is it worth it?"_ the deep voice asked. _"Are these small lives worth your protection?"_

Images of Sam flashed through his mind again.

**Sam, caught up in a struggle against his will, but prepared to give his all to protect those he cared for; human and Autobot alike.**

** Sam, bloodied and bruised to protect an artifact that didn't belong to his world.**

Human faces this time: Maggie Madsen and Glen Whitmann. Secretary John Keller. William Lennox and Robert Epps. Hundreds of other men and women from their nations' armed forces who had teamed up with the Autobots to defend the Earth.

_"Prime."_

He heard Sam's voice. Distant.

"Optimus!"

"It's worth it," Peter gasped.

The agony in his chest exploded, dissolving the world around him into dazzling fragments. When the sparkles faded, he found himself in a stark grey landscape; rocky and bleak. His brother Primes surrounded him in a lose semi-circle.

_"For millennia you have fought to protect life,"_ the Primes intoned with one voice. _"We have deemed the young human worthy; his wish will be granted."_

The pain became a radiating warmth, filling his body and limbs with vital energy. His spark flared into vibrant life and his systems came back online.

_"Rise again, Prime. Rise and protect."_


End file.
